Frantic
by Nick Fraysher Sr.
Bob wriggled through the dense underbrush like a weasel. Thorns pierced his hands and legs, razor sharp blades of swamp grass slashed his face, and slimy creatures slithered beneath his shirt. He refused to be dissuaded from his course even when an unmistakable clatter like dried bones announced the presence of a pernicious serpent.
Overhead, outlined against the full moon a ghostly image lingered momentarily before gliding silently into the gloom. Bob broke from the brush sloshing through knee deep muck fighting desperately to reach solid ground. Something clipped his left knee sending him sprawling face first into the murky water. He burst from the putrid semi-liquid gasping for air just in time to see a silhouette vanish beneath the surface. Staggering to his feet he surged forward ignoring the intruder, his gaze glued the to night sky. Clawing his way up the slippery bank he saw the water swirl inches below his flailing legs. The gators gigantic jaws snapped closed wrenching his right boot from his foot.
Bob ran, heart pounding, his eyes scanning the expanse above. White against gray flashed through a small clearing to his right. Excruciating pain sent him sprawling; gravel shaved the flesh from his chin, left cheek, and forehead. Dragging himself to his hands and knees he froze staring eye to eye with a snarling wolf. Growling deep within its throat the beast approached with bared teeth.
The apparition appeared so suddenly Bob leaped up and stumbled again slamming his back against the gravel. Lying flat gasping for breath he watched the wolf disappear overhead dangling in the clutches of a giant creature. A second gargantuan winged beast shot downward, its silvery leather hide shimmering in the moonlight. He rolled out of the way leaving strips of his shirt in its ten inch talons. Leaping to his feet he raced full speed across the rough gravel leaving splotches of blood, shredded flesh, and small bits of bone from his bootless foot amidst the stones.
Lights appeared ahead birthing a surge of renewed energy. Bob could smell the stench, and feel the foul breath of death on his back as he raced toward the oncoming lights. Giant leathery wings whipped swirls of dust about him. Breathless he collapsed to his knees unable to continue. His chin dropped against his chest as he waited for the inevitable.
Thunderous explosions rent the night again and again. Bob was engulfed in warm, sticky rain. He knelt unmoving, afraid to open his eyes.
“Your safe young man,” whispered a stranger. Two men stood with rifles watching the sky. A third man knelt beside him a handkerchief in his hand. “Hold still son,” he said wiping the warm slick substance from Bobs face. “You’ll be fine soon as we get you out of here.”
Bob knew he was being carried. He could see numerous men with guns. A small crowd had gathered around a red pickup. Above it all he saw the mass of creatures spilling for the sky. He tried to scream but no sound escaped his lips.
“He going to be okay,” asked a bearded old man.
“I think so,” the stranger replied, lying Bob gently in the truck bed. “It was a close one,” he said pointing upward. “Don’t worry; they won’t come near the lights.”
Bob awoke beneath a battery of bright lights. He was alive and safe. Propped on one elbow he surveyed the sparsely furnished room with its sanitary white floor and walls. Slipping out of bed he hobbled to the door and closed it. He never, ever wanted to venture outside again.
Nick- I am 59, originally from a small Arkansas town but now reside in Tennessee. For the last thirteen years I have been employed as a CNC operator manufacturing custom doors and windows. I have had two poems published in anthologies.
